


Seed of the Dark

by JackBivouac



Series: Curse of the Crimson Throne [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Bukkake, Dinosaurs, Dogs, F/M, Furry, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Impregnation, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Monsters, Multi, Other, Public Sex, Rape, Ritual Sex, Slavery, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: New backstory oneshots deviating/derived from a homebrew campaign based on the cool connections in Sense8 and a couple other campaigns.Scenes containing graphic rape are titled "Contains Rape."





	1. Contains Rape

In the shadow of the Mindspin Mountains, the Varsians camping in the parched Cinderlands danced naked beneath the stars. Their only adornment was the black spiral painted upon their foreheads. Except for the woman at their center, bound in black ropes sanctified to Yog-Sothoth, the Key and the Gate.

She was on her knees, hands bound over her head to the rough pole staked in the ruddy earth. Ropes lashed her ankles together behind the pole, forcing her knees apart before her. A thick black ribbon blindfolded her eyes.

The first of the dancers, Key of Yog-Sothoth, spun out from the ring in front of the Gate. He shoved his cock in the captive woman’s mouth and fucked her throat until the first drop of precum beaded from his head. The cultist pulled out to blow his load onto her hair and face.

He spun back into the ring of circling dancers for the next Key to rape the throat of the Gate. Each one of the cultists splattered the woman with their seed until she was coated head to foot in sticky, oozing cum.

Despite the heat radiating wave-like up from the badlands, the bukakked bitch’s coat of cum cooled to the freezing chill of void. The captive shook uncontrollably in her bounds, her golden, olive skin turning blue beneath the coat. The seed itself turned black.

The blackened cum gathered into two formless, undulating sludges. One descended in a winding trail down her body, leaving spirals of black frostbite upon her skin. The other ascended up her breasts and neck into her screaming mouth.

The freezing sludge choked out her screams. Instead, the victim shrieked from her nose as the undulating mass pistoned and stuffed her ravaged throat. Between her shuddering knees, the icy black mass forced four blunt tentacles into her pussy and anus each.

The frostbitten bitch bucked and jerked against the rough pole at her back, but the ropes at her wrists and ankles held her fast like a sail of flesh to its length. The sludge pounded her from both ends, ripping apart the walls of her shafts and wedging them into a brutally stuffed stretch.

The freezing head in her cunt rammed the inner mouth of her womb. The woman broke into even more violent spasms as the icy tentacles forced their way into her deepest cavities. 

Her back arched, fingers and toes clenching. She quivered rigidly like a sail in a storm of agonized ecstasy.

The sludge kept up its shaft-splitting assault, filling her womb with its eldritch, seeding mass. The cultists danced in the presence of their god, the Dark Tapestry.

This, the fruit of Yog-Sothoth, would be a being of monstrous power. They had to be, to prepare Golarion for the time when the stars were aligned for the Great Old Ones to return and rule once more.

Though these cultists were not aware of the scope of their god’s plan, the stars’ alignment called out across the badlands of Varisia to the sands of Casmaron, the jungles of Garund, and the forests of Tian Xia. A total of eight Gates were plied with their Yog-Sothoth’s Keys. Every one of them connected by the threads of the Dark Tapestry.

#*#*#*#*

Thousand Bones, Way-Keeper of the Skull Clan, sent the four youths who’d come of age across the mountains to Korvosa for one year as their final rite of passage. The city was not at all what Yargo was expecting. It was, for one, in flames.

Smoke rose from the city skyline. Alarm bells clanged out amidst a cacophony of screams, steel upon steel, and even the periodic detonation of arcane power. 

A wing of griffon riders swooped overhead, racing toward the looming castle perched upon a flat-topped pyramid. Something wet flecked Yargo’s face, blood from the underbelly of a wounded griffon. She jumped as it crashed headlong into a statue, mount and rider falling to a bone-crunching demise.

Hooves clattered on the cobblestone. A ruddy-skinned hand yanked Yargo off the street and into the alley just as the rider came charging around the corner. 

“The king is dead! Long live the queen!” shouted the castle herald.

They were immediately shouted down by ragged cries of “Hang the queen!” and “The usurper whore must die!”

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Gaekhen, searching Yargo’s golden, olive-skinned face.

Before she could answer, Zelar broke the space between them with a pointing arm.

“What’s going on with the road?” asked THAT bitch. Her questioning was, unfortunately, in the right place.

A rumble issued from below. The city street cracked apart, long fissures running across the bricks. A half-elf with a flaxen top-knot tripped over the fissure and fell on their face.

The road burst upward. Stones rained from the air. They pelted the crawling half-elf in the back. They collapsed, blood running down the back of their neck.

The stench of sewer and refuse belched forth from the crack. As did three tentacles, two barbed and one bulging with eyes. A ten-foot, two-ton otyugh crawled out on an oozing puddle of sewer filth.

“Huh, maybe we should save the twink,” said Goleg, last of the Skull Clan rite of passengers.

Gaekhen had already run out from the alley, yelling and waving his handaxe to get the monstrously-mawed beast’s attention. Goleg drew his flail and ran out after him, also yelling. 

Zelar flung her hand toward the beast, magic missiles flying from her fingertips. “Where’s the war cry, Yodels?”

Yargo’s hands curled to fists at her sides. She pried her gritting teeth apart and let out a wordless but melodious howl that was absolutely, positively nothing like yodelling. The raging strength of ancient totems channeled through all those who chose to accept her song.

Ancestral spirits stirred around Gaekhen and Goleg, slamming into the otyugh. The two shifted out of the way of the monster’s lashing tentacles with enhanced speed, slashing and bludgeoning with enhanced strength.

The otyugh screamed in a rage of its own. Zelar laughed beside Yargo, a cone of flame shooting from her fingertips. She had no need of the totem channeler’s song.

Gaekhen and Goleg had no need of the pickaxe still strapped on her back. By missile and strike, they hacked a barbed tentacle off the aberration, sending it wailing and fleeing back into the ruptured sewer from whence it came.

“That’s how it’s done,” said Zelar.

Without her. Yargo closed her mouth and fell silent.

#*#*#*#*

Space and elevation lent a grandeur, a majesty to this dusty stone chamber. At the end of its two rows of columns a fifteen-foot statue of Nethys, the All-Seeing Eye raised its stone hands, one black and one white, open in welcome. It was the circular pool at its feet, however, that drew Nemek’s sloe-eyed gaze. 

The water was perfectly still, perfectly clear. Yet the Osirian saw smoke in their bronze-skinned reflection. A chill descended down the eighteen-year-old’s spine. They turned their head over their shoulder, slowly.

The long hall of the abandoned sanctum danced in the shadows of their flickering torched. But was otherwise still and not burning.

“Alright, Nethys. Keep your fucking secrets.”

A scream nearly jolted the ba and the ka from Nemek’s akh. They jumped but ran down the inner hall toward the source, slipping their fingers round the hand of a waveblade. Without stopping, they slashed the raw arcs of a summoning glyph into the air.

The arcs remained where Nemek passed, connected spirals of glowing black. The coils compressed and sprang toward the monster tactician. From their completed circles rolled out a tentacled, three-foot ball of inky darkness, a void elemental.

Nemek let the elemental roll past them into the room first. In the light of a fallen torch, they made out the slender, screaming form of Azaz in the grasp of an ahkhat. 

The wall’s hieroglyphed stone stretched and pulled like rubber into a roughly hewn body. The stone elemental held the struggling twink by the wrists. A cock extending from the inscribed wall pounded Azaz in his ass, tearing his much fleshier walls apart.

Nemek’s void elemental slammed the ahkhat’s semi-formed legs with its tiny tentacles, barely denting the rock. The ahkhat let out a gravelly laugh. Its stone feet stomped the little guy to an inky splat on the floor.

“You did good,” Nemek muttered, slipping on their second waveblade. The wickedly sharp, hooked metal charged black with power.

They charged in with a spinning slash. Magicked metal scraped sparks off stone, leaving deep gashes in the ahkhat’s side.

The elemental roared, manifesting two more arms to punch Nemek. The tactician dodged the first only for the second to slam into their gut.

Nemek grunted and fell into a diving roll. The first waveblade gashed the stone across the ahkhat’s legs. As Nemek sprang up on the other side, the force of their legs drove the second up a deep cut through the elemental’s chest.

The wall rumbled with the ahkhat’s stony shriek. It released Azaz, who fell to his hands and knees, and vanished back into the wall.

“Th-thanks,” panted the wizard.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nemek, hauling him to his feet by the back of his vest. “Where’s Vel and them?”

“We-we split up.”

“That’s exactly what I told you not to do!” 

Azaz smiled sheepishly. “Vel said it’d be more efficient.”

They should’ve called themselves the Scorched Dumbfucks instead of the Scorched Hand. This was exactly why Nemek hated working on a team. You couldn’t trust anyone in the half-dead city to keep themselves alive.

But Nemek needed the money. And the Scorched Hand paid well, so long there was someone left kicking at the end of this dig.

“Come on,” they grumbled. “Let’s go save the others.”


	2. Family Matters

Ravengro was one of many small towns that dotted the fog-shrouded hills of Ustalav. Its cozy collection of quaint buildings nestled between farmlands and the long, swaying grasses of the Restlands. They were yellow at this time of year and the harvest-time air nippy with the season’s first chill.

Among the four pallbearers and small handful of villagers in procession, only the odd half-orc on the coffin’s right did not shiver. The green-skinned farmer stood a good head and shoulders above the rest. Her night-black eyes, red and puffy from crying, stared fixedly at the back of Kendra Lorrimor, her elder and fully human sister.

The professor’s veiled, auburn-haired daughter led the somber procession around the corner of the hilly, gravel path. Now blocked by a dozen of surly looking locals. Catress realized only too late that nobody intended to move, walking the coffin into Kendra’s back.

Her sister shot her a sharp glance as the wiry, retired soldier at the head of the pack spoke out.

“That’s far enough,” said the man, who Catress didn’t recognize because she never went into town. “We been talking, and we don’t want your daddy buried in the Restlands.”

“What are you talking about, Gibs?” snapped Kendra. “Everything’s been arranged with the Father. He’s waiting just up the…”

“You don’t get it, cityslicker. Course them blood-suckers running Caliphas wouldn’t give a shit, but we faithful Pharasmins won’t have a necromancer buried with our kin.”

The fancy-suited pallbearer opposite Catress snorted from the other side of the coffin.

“Necromancy?!” Kendra shouted in equal parts outrage and disbelief. “He was a professor of theoretical magicks you backwater ignoramus!”

“Gibs, she called you an in-your-anus!” gasped a dumber member of the mob.

Not to be outdone, the dumberer soldier swung a fist at Kendra’s face. 

Catress instantly snapped out of her unseasonably warm daze. Time slowed. Her body was a blur as she dropped her side of the coffin and swung her sister out of harm’s way.

Gibs’ fist landed in a waiting, green-skinned hand. He looked up, his shocked eyes meeting the half-orc’s. She opened her mouth to speak.

There was a loud, gravelly crash behind her. The half-orc, as it turned out, had been carrying the entire weight of the coffin herself. The three remaining pallbearers, stylish but weak cityslickers whose names were even more of a mystery to Catress, cried out in shock and alarm as the poor Pa’s body spilled out onto the muddy gravel.

“That there is a sign,” said Gibs.

Catress slugged him. He went down in a single hit. The mob took that as a sign to run, which they did.

The farmer let out a heavy sigh and picked old Pa in his muddied suit off the gravel. “Sorry, Pa. We’ll getcha in the ground soon.”

She carried him past her sister, still looking aghast at it all, and laid him back into the coffin. Catress grabbed her side and hefted the whole thing up, nearly taking the three other pallbearers off their feet with it.

“Ready when you are.”

#*#*#*#*

Despite the warm night air rolling into the apartment from the surrounding Plains of Paresh, the olive brown skin of the Qadiran whore on Uzad's bed rose in goosebumps. The hyena-headed gnoll let out a low, throaty laugh. The little slut wouldn't be cold for long.

He'd used his slaver shackles to cuff the Qadiran's wrists and ankles to the bedposts. With their face, breasts, and stomach against the thin mattress, Teraz was forced to present their perfectly rounded ass for his pleasure.

The gnoll climbed onto the bitch in a bestial mount, hindlegs straddling their ass and clawed hands groping their soft, luscious tits. Teraz whimpered under him, squirming needily between his bed and body.

With a guttural chuckle, the gnoll slaver dug his teeth into their slender throat and shoved his cock up their ass. He felt the cries of his prey sweet as honey between his jaws as his pounding dick ripped their anal walls apart. His swelling knot beat at the pursed mouth of the slut's anus.

Teraz grunted like a stuffed sow, hands and feet already jerking uselessly in the iron grasp of the slaver's shackles. Their ink black eyes bulged at the sudden, insistent smack of the gnoll's fist-sized knot between their legs.

Uzad's claws bit into the skin of their shoulders. With a swift, brutal shove, the gnoll forced his knot through their tiny asshole.

Teraz screamed. Their anal walls seized in a death-grip around the slaver's massive cock and knot. Uzad howled and pumped their anus full of his seed.

His Qadiran cumslut, filled to the brim, continued to jerk and spasm under him in uncontrollable orgasm. Uzad lost count of how many times they squirted and bucked themself senseless on his knotted dick, continuing to fuck their squeezing shaft as though he could impregnate them from the ass.

When the two finished, Uzad nuzzled Teraz's very warm and sweaty back as the Qadiran sat on the edge of the bed slowly, grudgingly putting their clothes back on.

"You should come with me to Katapesh," he growled softly, licking the salt from the back of their neck.

"My family would never approve." 

Teraz stared blankly at the final article of clothing in their hands, a sturdy apron printed with the name of the family business: Affordable Alchemies. They would have to run back, tail between their legs, before the hour was up. Like the little bitch they were.

The alchemist's jaw clenched as they tied the apron straps behind their back. They stood, blinking back the burning in their eyes. "Goodbye, Uzad."

The gnoll walked them to the door, shaking his head. "I won't say goodbye, Teraz. To you I say, what a shame."

At the very least, they managed to hold back their tears until Uzad shut the door.


	3. Contains Rape

A storm in the night had wrecked yet another merchant vessel off Garund’s Desperation Coast, the most perilous stretch of the swiftest route. Its bulk had washed up on the shore of a peculiarly crescent-shaped isle, including its surviving passengers. Unconscious as they were, they made easy pickings for the shoreline predators of the isle.

Unfortunately for the castaways, the predators were six-foot-tall flying dinosaurs. In heat. The three rainbow-feathered, razor-toothed dimorphodons flapped down over the unmoving bodies of a native Mwangi woman, an equally dark-skinned ganzi, and a Tian half-elf.

The dinosaurs tore through the castaways’ clothes with their toothed beaks like a knife through seafoam. They pinned their prey’s arms to the sandy beach with their clawed wings. Chirping excitedly, the dinosaurs jumped their scaled cocks into the castaways’ assholes.

The three stirred under the dinosaurs with pained grunts and jerks. The dimorphodons pistoned their swelling dicks up their prey’s shafts, ripping their walls apart.

The castaways woke in an explosion of pounding agony from their penetrated asses. They screamed and writhed for escape, kicking and sending sand flying in all directions.

But the dinosaurs had their prey utterly trapped beneath their claws and impaled on their raping dicks. The castaways’ flailing struggle only bucked and wedged them deeper onto the dimorphodons’ pistoning cocks.

Just behind the jungle’s treeline, a curious wetness trailed down Ryvat’s brown, stone cheek. The gargoyle touched a fingertip to her vaguely serpentine mask of a face. Against all reason, the island guardian was crying.

The castaways were supposed to die. She’d only hidden to see if the dinosaurs would do the job or if she’d have to finish it herself. Yet that feeling in her stone heart was unmistakable.

Grief. Pain. Regret. Even...shame?

Something was not right. Something was horribly, mystically amiss. And these castaways were at the heart of it.

Ryvat sighed. She raised two fingers along the barely-there ridge between her black, angled eyes. “Ancestors, guide me.”

As though in answer to her call, the gargoyle vanished from sight. She flew through the trees and up behind the dinosaurs. 

Normally, they would’ve caught her distinctly dry, earthen scent, but these birds were in heat. All they could smell was the heady musk of their own secretions, urging them on toward climax. The dimorphodons’ seed exploded into their prey’s ravaged assholes.

Ryvat exploded into sight in a whirlwind of biting, clawing, horn-goring violence. The dinosaurs screeched and flapped, slinging blood and feathers across the sand. A beaked head pierced the dune beside the Mwangi woman. Its body thumped and sprayed grit onto the half-elf.

All three stared up in fear and shock at the winged gargoyle who’d driven off the dinosaurs. There was a serpentine grace to her voluptuous form. Blood dripped from her horns, fangs, and claws. She frowned down at them but did not fly in for the kill.

“It is not safe for you here,” said Ryvat. Especially seeing as every other guardian of Yig’s Crescent would kill them without hesitation. “Come with me, if you want to live.”

#*#*#*#*

Deep in the mountainous, Sikari jungle of northern Vudra, the little village of Bannaquet woke at dawn to parrr-tay. Villagers from every caste donned carved wooden masks of a beast, any beast. For six-armed, four-faced Chamidu was the goddess of every creature of the wilds.

Bannaquet’s one family of vishkanya, however, did not stir until the sun reached its sweltering peak. None of the villagers were surprised by their half-day absence. The snake-eyed family with their tiny, glittery green scales, forked tongues, and a hissed language all of their own surely had the cold blood of serpents.

The five arrived together at the stone and jungle plaza, parting the crowd with quasi-blasphemous human masks. The saffron-robed priest coughed and choked on the dais. The silenced villagers swore they heard hissing snickers from behind the unmoved faces of wood.

Should anyone have removed their mask, Lazmal would at least have admitted to smiling. How could they not? A festival was a joyous occasion.

Yet the vishkanya felt a deep, not-joyous-per-say tug from their gut to the mountain peak over Bannaquet. It was a feeling like falling in one’s sleep, as though a hole had opened up beneath their feet to suck them down into deeper dreams. Then they tasted blood.

Lazmal leaned toward their mother. “Something’s wrong.”

Just as the priest recovered, a bright light shone from the west as though a second sun were rising. The priest’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the carved spires of the temple.

A thunderous explosion ripped through air and earth. The trees of Sikari shook by the root, animals shrieking and stampeding from their branches. From the mountain peak, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.

The temple exploded into a shower of hailing stone and billowing dust, the plaza grounds tearing apart in a jagged rift. The villagers screamed and fell into darkness. The last thing they saw was the scimitar-wielding silhouette of a thirty-foot-long, horned snake asura laying waste to Bannaquet.

Unless they were a dark-visioned vishkanya. Lazmal grabbed hold of their mother's arm. As they fell together into the heart of the mountain, Lazmal flung out their hand at their feet.

Two portals opened in the darkness, the first beneath their feet and the second beneath their father. Mother and child fell through the portal and beside Father. Mother grabbed his arm, linking all three.

Lazmal opened two more portals, one below and one beside their siblings. With their family gathered, Lazmal flung the last portal open by the sheer cliff wall of the cavern.

The family was ready. With kukris in both hands, they jabbed the blades into the rock. Metal screeched upon stone, showering them with heated Sparks. But the five slowed to a panting stop.

"That was some festival," laughed Father, throwing his mask to the unseen depths below. It landed with an audible, echoing clatter. The end was near if not in sight.

"Who's hurt?" asked Mother, casting her mask aside as well.

"I got a little grit in my teeth," joked Gerhu. Lazmal's sister tossed her mask with the others.

"You guys know I worked all night on those, right?" grumbled Rahbad, their brother.

Lazmal also lost the mask. "Anyway, the real question is, do we want to go back up to Attack of the Asura or chill in Body-Strewn Cave until it's over?"

The vishkanya family voted to chill.


	4. Contains Rape

Lao Sulin Tannery was one of the most respected businesses outside of Desyo with its reputation for sturdy leather and treating fairly with local tianjan or aasimar craftsmen. Unfortunately, this also made it a target for less savory types in town who also pursued tannery yet did not wish to treat so fairly with the craftsmen.

The least savory of them all was the reason Mai crouched on the top of the log palisade. The agathion-blooded tianjan had brown skin, white hair, and the ears of a rabbit. She moved with an inhuman grace, aiming her arrow through the window of tannery officer, the last room left alight now that dusk had fallen.

But just as Mai pulled back the string on the tanner, her gut careened up into her body as though she’d suddenly plummeted through the palisade. It was all she could do to bite back a high-pitched yelp.

The ranger tipped forward, arrow flying wild into the Kaimuko Wood. She fell from the palisade, arms flailing, into the stinking mud of the tannery yard.

In the darkness, Mai’s head rang with the barking of two very large dogs. Someone grabbed the top of her head by the hair. She opened her eyes groggily.

The idyllkin was on her knees in the stinking mud, splattered and naked. All attempts to move were immediately impeded by the ropes that lashed her arms to either side of her generous chest and bound her wrists painfully tight behind her back. That, and the fist in her hair.

A large hand slapped her across the face. “Time to wake up and face the music, you murderous slut.”

“Ow! I’m not a murderer, dumbass. You’re still alive, duh.”

The tanner slapped her again. “Shut your mouth, bitch.”

Before Mai could retort, he pulled his belt tight around her neck. The words strangled to a wet gurgle in her throat. With her mouth open and gasping for what tiny breaths it could, he forced her rabbit-eared head down on his cock.

Mai coughed and choked, the tanner’s dick pounding the back of her throat to a pulp. Her eyes blurred with tears, snot leaking from her nose. With her senses so violently assaulted by dick and stink, she never noticed the tanner’s free hand calling over his two large guard dogs.

The first pounced on the ranger’s back, driving her head forward onto the tanner. Mai shrieked through her nose as the tanner’s dick impaled her throat to the hilt and his guard dog slammed its dick, knot and all, up the clenched mouth of her ass. 

Mai jerked and writhed in her bonds, whining in high-pitched pain. The tanner laughed. He and his first dog continued to stuff and piston their mud-splattered bitch as the second wriggled its way under her and between her unsteady knees. 

Her black, weeping eyes bulged at the prod of a second knotted dick on her slit. She struggled in wriggling protest, but the man in her throat and the dog knotted tight in her anus held her fast. The second canine cock found her cunt’s dripping mouth and ripped through their cum toilet’s squeezing pussy.

Mai grunted and shuddered, throat, pussy, and anus all constricting around the dicks and knots slamming them to a fleshy, quivering pulp. Her ears shivered, fingers grasping and toes clenching painfully. The tanner and his dogs forced the idyllkin to cum, her bound, battered body breaking into uncontrollable spasms on their dicks and knots.

Cum exploded into the ranger’s throat, pussy, and anus. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The tanner pulled out only after forcing his filthy cum toilet to swallow his seed. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, head bouncing to the beat of the dogs’ knotted dicks pounding between her spread legs.

She would’ve tipped face-first into the mud if not for the guard dog’s forelegs wrapped under her bouncing tits. Now the tanner got to watch her stupid, humiliating face as his dogs fucked orgasm after bestial orgasm into her wet, squeezing holes.

The guard dogs raped their helpless, squealing bitch for an hour. When their knots finally yanked out of her, Mai DID fall face-first, unconscious, into the mud.

The tanner called the town guard to come pick up his murderous, cum-leaking toilet.

#*#*#*#*

The Jade Temple stood on the outskirts of Kasai in that still, sacred place where city ended and forest begin. Beneath the stars of the night sky, the open-air temple halls were arguably more beautiful and serene, even to the acolyte assigned to scrub them.

Not that Kura blamed the priestesses for always assigning her cleaning duty. It wasn't like any of the other acolytes' foreheads were marked with a black, cursed spiral. The priestesses wouldn't let her get within ten feet of Tsukiyo's shrine, much less the Tree of Souls. For everyone's mutual protection, of course.

The Minkai's scrub brush slapped the wooden floor slightly harder than they'd intended. They let out a deep, cooling breath.

A socked and sandaled foot connected with Kura's sud bucket. Dirty gray water soaked the kneeling acolyte to the bone. They shivered and glowered at the floor as Hararu and her holy cronies burst into raucous laughter.

"You look just like a wet rabbit," said Hararu. "Wait, no you don't. That would imply you were actually worth a fart of Tsukiyo's time. You're lower than a second class lunch animal, you street-orphaned failure of an abortion."

At that, Kura rose to their feet. Their fists shook at their sides, face cold as ice beneath the dripping water. Their forehead was coldest of all.

Hararu and the Holy Cronies recoiled back a step. The acolyte opened their mouth. The sound that came out, however, was not a biting retort but a high, pleasured moan.

Kura clapped both hands over their mouth. Just in time as their knees collapsed under them. They fell to a quivering heap on the floor, a wetness dripping from their flushed cunt.

"Oh my gods," gaped Hararu. "You're not just a cursed freak, you're an epileptic slut!"

The leader of the Holy Cronies grinned maliciously. "Grab the nympho."

The bullies seized Kura by the arms and dragged them across wood, gravel, and grass into the grove of the Tree of Souls. The acolyte couldn't have fought back if they tried. It took all their concentration not to scream out from the explosive ecstasy lancing out from their pussy and anus into every nerve in their body.

The bullies dragged Kura's back right up against the trunk. They bound Kura's wrists over their head to the sacred tree. At Hararu's nod, they spread the acolyte's strengthless, quivering legs apart.

The first crony ripped off Kura's underwear.

"Ew, its soaked," they laughed. Hararu took the wadded garment and shoved it into Kura's mouth.

Kura was almost relieved to have their shameful moaning so thoroughly gagged. Then the first crony rammed their dick up Kura's swollen asshole, pounding them into the tree.

The sodden gag muffled their shriek as thee bully's cock tore through their already tight, spasming walls. Their anal shaft clamped down around the raping dick. The bully gasped and laughed in pleasured shock, cum gushing up Kura's tortured asshole.

A light shower of leaves fell with a whisper from the sacred cherry tree. None of the Holy Cronies were in any state of mind to notice.

The second bully stepped up, shoving their cock in Kura's pussy. The cursed acolyte realized the danger at once. They couldn't be impregnated!

Kura kicked and writhed for escape. A bully grunted as their sandal connected with her belly. The cursed acolyte yanked one hand free in the confusion.

Hararu's sandal connected with the side of their face. Stars burst in Kura's eyes. Their body went limp save for the erratic, pleasured convulsion.

"That's it, nympho-bitch," growled Hararu. "Now you're really gonna be sorry."

The leader yanked Kura's other wrist free. "Strip this pathetic cumslut."

Her cronies obeyed with jeering laughter. They ripped Kura's clothes off their unmoving body and used them to fashion new, tighter bindings.

They wrenched the acolyte's arms straight down their back, tying them at the elbows and wrists. They shoved Kura tits-first again the tree, lashing them by the neck and chest to the trunk. They bent and spread the acolyte's legs, tying them by the thighs and knees to the tree as though Kura was a clinging cicda shedding its skin.

Kura, completely helpless and exposed, sobbed against the rough bark of the massive tree. Leaves came showering down.

Before the second bully could stick their dick through the acolyte's flushed, dripping pussy lips, the first caught their shoulder. "Uh, guys…"

They pointed up. Every leaf had fallen from the Tree of Souls.

"Ohhh...shit," swore Hararu. "Everybody scram!"

The Holy Cronies ran, leaving Kura naked, bound, sobbing, and cumming against the rough bark of the barren tree. The humiliated acolyte could do nothing but try to ride out wave after wave of their forced pleasure, face fixed toward the green blur of the woods.

Kura blinked. The trees were shaking. Something was coming from the forest. Many somethings, an army's worth.

Putting the safety of the temple above their own utter humiliation, Kura shrieked at the top of their lungs. Truly, they were cursed, for the sodden gag in their mouth completely choked out their warning cries.


End file.
